


Wasted and Rembering You

by gradysdearing



Category: Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clawen, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, They love each other, owen is drunk, pre-Jurassic world fallen kingdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 16:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gradysdearing/pseuds/gradysdearing
Summary: Claire comforts a drunken Owen; both begin to re-think their broken relationship.(Set pre-JWFK... a little angsty fluff of something that definitely could have happened).





	Wasted and Rembering You

**Author's Note:**

> After a night where my clawen heartache support group girls were hurting themselves over clawen headcannons, I wrote this for them. I hope you like it, and can stretch your minds to believe it certainly could have happened! 
> 
> Niamh thanks for the attempted title suggestion, Taylor thank you for the actual title and Nicky, please don’t cry ok thanks to all my girls ily

His hands quivered, scratching at his palms to relieve some of the stress that pent up in his throat. A fogginess, swinging side to side in his brain, blurring his vision slightly. The night air was cool against his navy sweater and as his toes curled up and down in trepidation, he found his courage and did it. He pressed the buzzer on the keypad outside the cold stone block of apartments, clustered around fruitful tall firs and bushes.

_Breathe, Owen. Breathe goddammit!_

He tried to repeat the thought in his head, his mind unable to process his surroundings right now. He’d been down the bar, again. There wasn’t really a night where he wasn’t down the bar to be perfectly honest with you. Ever since... it. Ever since it had happened, he’d found solace and dependency in the wooden seating booths and dimly lit den that smelt of stale beer and tobacco. And every night would be the same; beer, music, poor pool games and his thoughts keeping company. Every night when it got to the thoughts stage, he’d compulsively down another beer and make his way back to the trailer he kept in the woods, shutting out the world, and his thoughts. So he couldn’t act on it.

Except, tonight he did.

Tonight, he didn’t stumble back to the secluded trailer. Tonight he didn’t shut out the world. Tonight, Owen let the thoughts get to his head. Too many thoughts; too aggressive. And so, tonight, Owen ended up at the apartment of Claire Dearing.

“Hello?” He sighed. Hearing that bold, chirpy voice through the speaker that should definitely be more groggy for the late hour it currently was - hearing it made his cheeks feel warm and his breaths feel minuscule.

He froze. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do... or say. After weeks of repeating this conversation in his head and nights of shouting at himself to stop thinking about her, he had finally made it. And he was backing out quicker than he could knock back a beer.

“Um... Claire. Hi. Hi... hi, it’s Owen. Yeah, it’s Owen, hi”, he muttered profusely, stuttering and incoherent. “Sorry... sorry about this, I should have co-“

“Owen?” He heard a faint whisper reply back to him, the crackle of the speaker unable to hide the small sigh she made. It sounded as if Claire was speechless.

“Yeah, it’s Owen. Hi. Sorry... um, I wanted to talk to you. I mean, I’ve wanted to talk for a long time because I was being such a-“

His voice trailed off when he heard a small cough from the answering machine, a whisper came in reply, accompanied by another soft sigh which sounded more like anger towards her own submissiveness. “It’s ok, Owen. Come on up”.

He didn’t know how, but his legs somehow got him up through the door and into the elevator and his brain somehow, and somewhat sloppily, pressed the correct floor number. He was too ashamed to admit it was just permanently engrained in his knowledge now, an instinct of his.

He first noticed that she didn’t leave the door unlocked for him, like she used to. He then noticed that her turquoise eyes lacked their sparkle; a grey pooled deeply within them. The last thing he noticed was her adorable rouge, golden locks in a messy bun, make-up cleansed away and her black-rimmed reading glasses sat comfortably on her nose... complete with his old, rather oversized grey hoodie and her own pair of sweatpants. The softness of the material was not something Owen could shake away from his memory.

“Hi”, she said softly. Her expression would be unreadable to most; Owen was the exception, identifying easily the anxiety building in her chest.

He felt her eyes on him, studying the way his finger nervously clutched the door frame low to the ground, the way his hips slightly swayed and his jumper smelt of alcohol. But she didn’t say anything, she just opened the door widely and stepped aside to give him some space in the white-walled corridor.

“Take your shoes off, I vacuumed earlier”. A quiet ask, proving she really was as stuck as he was with what to say. So, she brushed passed him, white ankle socks softly hitting against the beige wooden floor until she stopped in the similar and thoroughly modern white glass kitchen area that stood behind the open-windowed lounge. She perched up against the marble kitchen counter, arms crossed together. “Please”, she added with a small curl of her lips.

And he abided by her wishes, his shoes discarded on the mat by the door. Slowly, and apprehensively he edged closer to her before retaining a few feet of distance between them. He stood awkwardly, nothing to lean up against.

“You look good... err- nice, actually. Your hair is pretty”. It came out before he could stop himself. She just smiled at her feet in return; Owen wouldn’t dare to let himself believe he had seen a blush creep into her freckled cheeks. “That’s my jumper”.

“You left it here”, she shrugged with a quick retort. “It’s comfy”.

“Mmm-hmm”, was the only sound that admitted from his lips, accompanied by a slight smirk of disbelief.

His smirk clearly riled her slightly. “What are you doing here, Owen?” Her tone sounded annoyed, angered, uncomfortable.

He looked dumbfounded, lost for words in the moment that he needed them most. “Well, I-... I-“

“Wait. I need another drink first”, she stopped him abruptly, her voice still tiny in comparison to the power he found she held over him, flat palm held out in front of her before moving into the kitchen further and collecting a used wine glass off the side. _So, she’d been drinking tonight as well_... had Owen not been so incoherent, the thought would have worried him. But she seemed fine, sober enough. It would have just been a glass of wine in front of the television, winding down before bed. And thus, another thing he couldn’t stop himself from noticing was that she didn’t offer him a drink.

He watched as she poured the clear, white wine into the glass; a half of its original contents now remained in the bottle. She was acting awfully sober for the lightweight he knew she was... then again, he also knew something such as himself turning up at her door would quickly sober her up.

“So...” she started softly after taking a long sip from her glass, now leant back against the counter again.

He hadn’t moved, stuck on the spot. Frozen. What was he supposed to do? His head span too much and now his heart thumped too loudly.

“Owen, why are you here?” She finally asked, noticing his inability to respond. Her eyes were wary, her features trying to falsify herself not caring.

He sighed, hands trembling as they found the back pockets of his jeans. “I can’t keep doing the same thing every night...I can’t go back to the trailer. Not on my own Claire, I’m so damn fed up! We’re not meant to-“ he was cut off, instantly realising he’d let his drunken slurs get the better of him.

“You’re drunk”, she deadpanned. He hated that face, that look of disappointment she made. He didn’t want to disappoint her; never did he want that.

“So what? That doesn’t matter, that doesn’t change anything. I’ve come to speak to you because we both know that someone needs to do it!”

Her expression seemed to falter for a second, but she regained her facade and shook her head softly, looking down at the floor. “There isn’t anything to say. It’s done... it’s happened and you have to accept it” she replied, voice emotionless, eyes darting away from him.

“Bullshit,” he said angrily. “Bullshit, Claire. Why are you still up gone midnight? Why are you burying yourself in your work, even more than you usually do?” He stopped to point his head towards the glass coffee table in front of the sofa, openly lit laptop and papers strewn everywhere. “Why are you still wearing my clothes? I may be drunk but I’m not goddamn stupid, ok? You can’t tell me to move on when you can’t do it yourself!”

“Owen, stop...please” she whispered, her voice inaudible and frail. His heart suddenly broke when he saw the sadness ghosting in her pupils. She walked away from where they were stood, moving further into the apartment to sit on an armchair. “Let’s sit down” she had said to him with a sigh. So he did, seating himself on the sofa next to her chair.

He didn’t like the feeling of sitting there, in the seat that he’d been in so many times before. Only, he’d have Claire wrapped in his embrace, the electric fire would be emitting a soft glow that matched the candles they’d light and the television above it would be playing one of her favorite rom-coms he’d happily sit through just to be with her.

But this time, he wasn’t sat with her in his arms. She’d chosen distance over familiarity.

“This was a stupid idea” Owen muttered, back arched over his knees, unable to relax.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have come here...” he replied. “I’ll just walk home”.

She looked lost, eyes looking around for the right answer. He could easily see the distress in her features. She shook her head gently, holding the wine glass close as her knees wrapped into her chest. “Don’t... it’s late. I want to talk”.

 _She did?_ He sat up straighter now, taking a deep breath. “Ok” was all he could respond.

“What you said, it’s right. It’s not the same without you” she said quietly. She searched his face for reassurance that what she was saying was ok. All she could see was darkness, sadness... glassiness. “But stuff needs to change, Owen”.

His eyes looked up to meet hers, suddenly a flicker of hope danced within the blue orbs. “Are you saying tha-“

“Owen,” she stopped him, her stern expression quietening him quickly. “Regardless of what I’m saying, we can’t carry on like we are now. Like whatever has been going on these past few months. We have to stop running back to each other and then regretting it in the morning...”

His eyes darkened again. A heavy sink of his heart plummeted a thousand thoughts into his mind.

 _She wants to never see me again. This is it. We’re completely_ done, _before we even started._

“... because you’re the one person I’ve had in my life who I can’t let fill that role. You’re too good for it.”

It was certainly the drink. Definitely. It was definitely the drink that made the tear escape from his eye... or probably the tiredness hitting him. That’s what he tried to tell himself anyway. But as soon as one fell, he couldn’t stop another falling. Or another. Or another.

“Oh, Owen...” Claire whispered to herself, quickly placing the near-empty wine glass on the table and getting up from the chair to join where he was sat. His eyes, which had been fixed on the fireplace, moved to connect with her's when he felt the change in weight of the cushion beside him.

Through his glassy vision, he thought she looked absolutely adorable crawling up onto the sofa beside him in her oversized hoodie, messy hair and sweet glasses on the end of her nose. It even made him smile.

“Hey, you big softie...” she said so sweetly and so, so quietly. He felt numb when a finger tentatively wiped a tear away from under his eye. “How much have you actually had to drink then, huh?”

He shrugged, eyes still boring into her own. “Same as every night.”

A breath hitched in her throat, heart sinking. She was inches from his face now and she couldn’t help but move the stray wisps of hair from his forehead, ever so gently. His eyes threatened to break, she could tell so easily; it caused her own orbs to sting. “Hey Owen... listen”, she asked softly, one hand under his chin, the other resting against his side profile. Holding the gaze on her that he was threatening to break any moment now. “You’re ok... we’re...we’ll be ok” she assured him. It wasn’t just for him, not that she’d admit it, but she wanted so desperately to believe it herself.

She didn’t think he could look into her any deeper than he was now doing. His eyes glassed over once more, lip trembling discretely. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry... for leaving. I left you, I left you on your own and just expected everything to be ok and I treated you like shit for months just so I could get what I needed but push past how I really felt... Claire, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. To us.” He was crying now, uncontrollable streams of tears that rolled down his perfectly carved jawline. She felt his weight give in, his chest curling into his knees, his hands scratching at his hair as he cried in frustration.

Claire almost choked on her own sob... seeing Owen like this. So lost, so broken. It broke her.

And so, Claire wrapped her arms around his back, one hand gently caressing the hair on his head, holding him ever so closely and, she cried. She couldn’t hold it back - seeing the man she felt so much for finally back by her side. Not the emotionless man whom she had so many times let herself submit to, just to feel even slightly normal again. No, this was her man. Her Owen.

And he really wasn’t ok.

So they both sat there for a few minutes, Claire trying to comfort and soothe Owen through her own tears, heart ripping open each time he’d whisper an “I’m sorry” or a “It’s only ever been you” or “I wish you could see what I feel for you”.

And when he untangled himself from the embrace they had made, looking into her newly red and watery eyes, he started again, taking her hand into his own. “Every night for the last few months has been the same for me; go down to the bar, drink, drink some more, overthink, drink to stop thinking about you, think about you more and drink to stop myself from dragging my ass across town to come and get you... tonight was my final straw, Claire. I can’t live like this until I’ve said what I need to. And then, it’s up to you”.

She gulped quietly, his words hurting her head, and heart. Claire knew he was getting bad, but not this bad. “It’s not just your fault, Owen. I told you to leave... we both should have acted more mature. But it’s done now, ok? And I don’t want to push you away anymore, I don’t think either would function any better on our own”.

Owen was shaking his head, holding her hands tightly. “You’ve always been it for me, Claire... you know that right? I’ve never felt like this before... this isn’t something I want to move on from. I can’t.”

God, his voice sounded so broken it physically hurt her to listen. She wanted her Owen who talks about fishing nonstop or her Owen who is singing in the kitchen whilst he cooks for her - she doesn’t want to see Owen like this. Like she broke him.

“I can’t either” she whispered, a tear escaping from her own eye once again when she saw the small smile Owen made at her words. “But you have to sober up if we’re going to make this work somehow... I’ll make you a cup of tea, how about that?”

He looked up at her, adoration in his face as he unwillingly nodded and watched her move away into the kitchen.

“You’re beautiful Claire,” she heard him say, despite him now being on his own. “I hope you know that you’re the most beautiful person I have ever seen. And, I’m so stupidly in love with you.”

From her position behind him, waiting for the kettle to boil on the kitchen surface, she inhaled sharply at his words. He was drunk talking. The endless drunk rambling she knew he was capable off... but, it’s couldn’t help her hope in the least that it was the truth.

“I won’t stop loving you. I’d travel to the ends of the earth to be with you... heck why would I willingly end up in California? Because you’re here. I would have fled to the opposite corner of the earth by now to get away from that island, had you not been in my life” He continued, his words slow yet full of more life than she’s heard him have all night.

She finished making his cup of tea, moving back over to him with his old football china mug he’d left in her cupboard. She placed it down in front of him and then perched herself up on the arm of the chair next to the large sofa Owen had relaxed back into.

“We should get married.” It was a comment out of time, out of place. Random and spoken quickly; excitedly. “You should marry me, if you want that. I want that....Will you marry me?” He spoke fast, stuttering on his words. She could hear the impulse in his voice but that could only come from his unsober courage.

If she had been drinking anything, she probably would have choked, spat it out everywhere and passed out on the floor; that was how shocked she was. Her blood ran cold and face flushed hot... what were you supposed to do in a situation such as this where your drunk ex who you’re so hopelessly in love with, is asking to marry you?

“Owen...” she whispered, with a sigh and a tone of warning in her words. “You’re drunk, you don’t know what you’re saying. Get some sleep, I’ll grab you a blanket...”

She’d gotten up by now, moving away to the corner of the room where a couple of soft, caramel blankets were folded on top of a wicker basket. He’d already laid down by the time she’d reached the sofa again, so she draped the material over him gently before getting ready to leave the room.

At the light switch, she was forced to stop, a small muttering of her name sounding behind her. “I’m serious, Claire”, she heard him talk in the now-dimmed light. “Don’t think I’m saying what I’m saying because I’m drunk... I meant it”.

“Goodnight, Owen” Claire whispered, unable to contain the small smile that spread across her face.

Owen was asleep before he could even remember where he had ended up; Claire laid in bed for hours, alert and awake. Tossing and turning. Overthinking. What had he said? Did it really happen?

For the past couple of months, Claire would lay in the same position each night and recall every conversation and everything that happened between the two of them. Trying to work out where it had gone wrong. And every night, she’d dream about every possible outcome. Never did she think that Owen would willingly want to talk to her, that she’d let him do so and it would turn out... ok? And, never in her wildest imagination could she predict that he’d ask her to spend the rest of his life with him. But, he was drunk... but he was also extremely sincere. She couldn’t decide. She couldn’t work out what her own brain was saying, let alone his as well.

Apparently, she had managed to fall asleep because she found herself waking up, hours later, to sunlight and an oddly welcoming smell of coffee. Why... why was there a smell of fresh coffee?

_Oh, Owen was there._

All the memories of the previous night flooded back to her and all of a sudden her breath felt in short supply, heart beating rapidly. Oh, god what had she done? Were they together now? Were they having another go? _Didn’t he propose?_

Claire looked at the clock, cursing under her breath when she realised she’d lazily slept in. Was he up? He must be up, he’d made the coffee... how long had he been up for? She quickly checked her face in the mirror, letting her auburn locks cascade down the back of Owen’s old jumper she’d quickly pulled back on, ready to leave the safety of her bedroom and face whatever mess she had created last night.

She walked out into the hallway quietly, lurking in the shadows as she looked into the lounge that joined with the kitchen. Owen was up at the counter, pouring the coffee; she noticed there were two mugs. He looked adorable, humming to himself as he opened the cutlery drawer and found a spoon... not that he had to find anything. He knew his way around her apartment like the back of his hand.

Claire walked in further, making her presence known with a small cough. She was nervous... why was she so nervous?

“Hey” she smiled, gently.

He immediately looked up, his expression like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, Hey... uh... I made you a coffee?”

She grinned again, joining him by the surface, trepidation in her steps. She took the mug, holding it to her chest and thanking him.

“Black... no sugar because you’re-“

“Sweet enough” she finished off for him. A small running joke they’d always used to make. His eyes were on her, watching the bashful smile that was his favorite. “How are you feeling?”

He nodded, stepping away from the counter, nervously taking his own hot drink. “I’m ok. Used to it” he muttered the last part. “Claire... I’m sorry for barging in on you last night. Thanks for err-... looking after me”.

“It’s ok, Owen” she replied quietly, eyes on the rim of the steaming liquid. _You know I’d always do it for you._

He’d moved away from the kitchen now, no counter standing between them anymore. “No, it’s not. What I said, how I acted. You don’t need that; you made it clear what we both need”.

“Owen... no, I-I...”

“What?”

“I don’t want that,” She admitted with a deep exhale, nerves running extremely high for how she usually was. Claire was almost proud of herself.

“You... don’t want what?” His voice was quiet, speculative, intrigued.

Her eyes darted around rapidly, taking a sip of her coffee in an attempt to busy herself with something other than this.

“Us. Apart. I don’t want that, you said it last night. It doesn’t work for us”.

She didn’t miss the flicker of a smile that curled in his lips. “I don’t want that either”, his reply came as a whisper.

Before she knew what was happening - or how it was happening - his lips crashed against her own. Powerful, passionate, needing. And she completely melted, feeling herself instinctively placing her coffee cup on the counter. Apparently, Owen did the same, for both his hands were quickly in her hair, on her face. Everywhere.

Eventually, one of them pulled away, unwillingly. His forehead rested against her own, palm against her cheek as he smiled against it. Breathless, happy.

“Owen?” She asked, trying to catch up with the rapid rhythm of her lungs. She heard him sound in acknowledgment, his head softly nodding. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes?” He replied quietly.

“Yes. That’s my answer” he felt her nervous smile, moving back slightly and searching her eyes for answers. She looked at him expectantly until he understood. And, dear god did he understand.

_She said yes. Did she say yes... she said yes?_

“Really?” And she nodded again.

He laughed breathlessly, astonished. And then, he was kissing her again. More slowly, more lovingly. It felt perfect.

“You know,” he said, breaking away from her lips. “I wish I could say that I hoped you didn’t hear that part... but I really, really hoped you had”.

And then Claire laughed, softly and adorable. He felt a tug in his chest. Completely in awe of her.

“But we need time first, Owen. We need to make this work”. Her hands were on his shoulders, eyes boring into his own.

“We have time Claire. We’ve got the rest of our lives now, ok?”

She nodded, nervously. But, from seeing the wide grin now plastered on his face and the healthy glint back in his blue orbs. From the soft touches of his hand against her wisps of hair and the whispers of reassurance. They were going to be ok, she was certain of that now.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed please leave some kudos or comments and I will love you for ever! If you have any prompts you want me to write, let me know :)


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